Living Mood Rings

Molly was a planner

There was a plan

For everything

And everybody

Expressed thoughts

In vibrant colors

There was no

Night, no day

Molly never rested

On account of–there

Might be somebody

Somewhere, that

Needed something

Seth, was just there

For the beer

Or so, he said

It was just like

Seth to say

Annoying things

Just for laughs

Molly knew he

Would answer

For cruel remarks

On Judgement day

 

Who Was Pookie Snackenberg?

It’s another rainy day after a mild winter.  The mosquitoes are back.  Outdoor plans have been squelched.

Racking my brain for topics to post.  Trying too hard, complaining about it, never worked in the past.  Tuesdays are traditionally slow news days, anyway.

Which leads to the question of “Who was Pookie Snackenberg?”

Pookie Snackenberg, was an invention of Jack Carney, fifties radio DJ for St. Louis station WIL, in the dizzy, high-flying days of AM rock radio.

Pookie Snackenberg, fictional teen hero, represented crazy stunts by rock and roll DJ’s all over the country in the clamor for listeners and ratings.  Pookie Snackenberg buttons were available at the station and sponsor’s retail locations.

In another publicity stunt, Carney asked listeners to pull tuning knobs off their parents’ home and car radios, so dials couldn’t be moved from WIL.

My late father-in-law must have gotten the memo, because the tuning knob on his pickup truck radio was always missing.

As a public service, when there’s nothing to talk about; or you’re in need of a trivia topic–remember to ask, “Who was Pookie Snackenberg?”  And, you’re welcome, happy to be of service.

Ultimatums

They seem cruel now–but, back then they were attempts to gain control.  Different from admonitions, these were warnings; do/don’t do this, or this will happen.

“Come on, I’m going.  I’m not telling you again.  OK, you can just stay here at Aunt Edna’s.  Your Bubba bear is going to miss you.”

A few tears, later and the recalcitrant youngun’ came dragging along.  He wasn’t about to abandon his favorite teddy bear.

Behind Rose’s Market was an outhouse and a storage building.  The small town grocery store, was an after school meeting place.  Old men from town, met in the back, by the oil-burning stove, for their daily gossip fest.  Charlie Rose, the proprietor, gave a familiar warning.

“Get away from that shed–the boogeyman will get you.”

Grandparents gave an ultimatum or two.  Some of them quite macabre.

“Don’t play on the telephone.”  Or, Nelson Fenton, proprietor of the local independent telephone company, would come and, “Cut our ears off.”

Ultimatums came from everywhere, from aunts and uncles, teachers, townspeople.  They were battles of wills; attempts to maintain order.

“If you don’t stop crying and behave, I’m going to take you to the doctor and get you a shot.”

That usually did the trick.  No kid I knew liked getting shots.  Working in health care later, I discovered this approach, hindered more than it helped.

“Hit your sister again, and I’ll swat your butt.”  Direct and to the point–nothing else needed to be said.

Along the path to maturity, these ultimatums were no more cruel, than those elsewhere in the animal kingdom.  Mother cats cuffed misbehaving offspring; carried them by the scruff of their necks when necessary.  All creatures had to learn their places.  There were consequences for misbehavior.

 

 

 

Telephone Salvation (Encore Presentation)

seance 2

One size fits all, misfits

Screamed, indulge me!

Make me happy!

Boys from Possum Junction

Veronicas from Pecatonica

Sat around the parlor table

In a séance, for miscreants

Conjured spirits, of

Recently departed ambitions

Contemplated, turning points

Of contention, where, how, when

Relationships went askew

Deliberations, starved

For attention

Couldn’t make up, for

What, wasn’t there

Folded arms–a few stifled yawns later

Cautious glances, at watches

Last words, soon forgotten

Boredom ended, with

Telephone salvation

Sweater Sensations

Not since Mr. Rogers, has there been so much hubbub about sweaters.

Of course, I’m speaking about Ken Bone, the heavy-set, bespectacled guy, with refreshing, relevant, thoughtful questions at the last Presidential Debate.

The red sweater, a last-minute wardrobe choice, is as much an internet sensation, as it’s wearer.

What a relief from a campaign, thus far riddled with insults, was Ken Bone.  Shouldn’t he be in the “Sweater Wearers Hall of Fame?”  …Along with other famous sweater wearers?